July 3, 2004

• Hi y’ all!

  Are my fellow United Statesians enjoying their long Independence Day
  weekend?  Don’t forget to pause at some point and remember where
  and how it all began:  that rabble in Philly sayin’ they were mad
  as hell and weren’t gonna pay no tax on tea no more.   In a
  scant two-and-a-third centuries we’ve gone from taxation without
  representation to more taxation and a lot of misrepresentation, but at
  least we don’t have a foreign tyrant now.

  I have been thinking for days and daze about the next installment of my
  pre-teen memoirs, but today my head is stuffed with fluff and feverish,
  so ‘scuse me if I just let Molly Ivins speak for me.

  AUSTIN, Texas — Happy birthday,
  America! Ye Olde Fourth of July rolls around again and finds the Great
  Nation in, frankly, a somewhat pissy mood. Lots of blame game,
  name-slinging and general unpleasantness. But there’s always an upside.
  The vice president reports that if you go ahead and let fly with the
  f-word, it makes you feel better. Anything to get that fun Dick Cheney
  back to his usual sunny self, I always say.

  True, we seem to have had more halcyon national natal days, but if we
  ignore I__q for the day, we should be able to celebrate our national
  heritage without punching each other in the eye.

  So let’s salute all that makes America special, starting with us, the
  people. Here’s to all the musicians, from country to hip-hop to rock to
  classical to jazz to folk to be-bop to norteno to polka to reggae, and
  to all the fusion forms thereof. Here’s to all the artists who get no
  respect:  the washboard players and lute strummers, harmonica
  blowers and banjo pickers. Here’s to their endless generosity in
  playing special benefits for retired musicians who are ill and have no
  health insurance, all over America, every night. And here’s to the
  great Ray Charles, bless his heart. May we all hear his version of
  “America the Beautiful” this holiday.

  And here’s to all the dancers who move to all that music, from the
  wildest Goth Watusi to the competitive ballroom dancers and the tango
  enthusiasts and the two-steppers and line-dancers and Celtic folk round
  dancers and square dancers and those who never got the beyond the
  box-step. Here’s to the African dancers and tappers, and the
  experimental modern crowd.

  Here’s to everyone trying to lose 10 pounds and all their lo-carb,
  hi-protein, all-fruit, cucumber-only, martini-drinkers’ diets — may
  they all succeed. Here’s to all their exercise machines and speed
  walking and gym workouts. Don’t give up, we’ll all be thin and gorgeous
  someday.

  Here’s to all the civic fandangles and to everyone who makes them
  happen — to moms who contribute brownies and dads who judge the goat
  contests, and the guys who set up the band seats. To all the Peanut
  Festivals, Turkey Trots, One-Armed Dove Hunts, Crayfish and Petroleum
  Days, Fat Stock Show and Rodeos, Blueberry, Strawberry and Artichoke
  Festivals, the Watermelon Thump, the Prairie Chicken Fling, Black-Eyed
  Pea Festival, the county fair, the school fair, the state fair, Puerto
  Rican Day, Gay Pride Day, St. Paddy’s, Cinco de Mayo, Juneteenth and
  thousands more. Not to mention the Fourth of July parades.

  Here’s to all the good deeds we never hear about, to people who stop to
  help change flat tires, return wallets, take crying children to the
  lost and found and stay until their mommies come, to those who help old
  ladies across the street and especially to those who make waitresses
  laugh.

  Here’s to Tony Korioth, who used to stop to carry an old lady’s garbage
  can up to her garage for her, and to his son John, who told the story
  at Tony’s funeral. Here’s to drivers who let others merge, the
  neighbors who baby-sit for pets and children and aging parents, here’s
  to the gardeners who donate their excess zucchini and home-grown
  tomatoes to their neighbors, to people who bring food when someone
  dies, to all those who pitch in, lend a hand and say, “Let me help.”

  And here’s to keeping America weird. To Scott Peterson and Kobe Bryant
  for making cable television so busy, happy and productive. Here’s to
  the tabloids, eternally discovering alien zombies from outer space
  (have they checked out the Veep lately?). Here’s to all our grumps and
  scolds, constantly insisting that we’re going to hell in a handbasket.
  Where would we be without an active core of selfless citizens
  constantly prepared to tell us we’re dumb, fat and lazy, and it’s all
  our fault? Concerning our national habit of polling ourselves to find
  just how dumb we are, a new study shows 88.2 percent of all Texans
  believe Osama bin Laden has two first names, like Jerry Jeff or Billy
  Bob.

  Here’s to all our dreams and fantasies, to the frumpy women who dream
  of looking like the models in Vogue and Bazaar, to the fat guys who
  read the extreme sports magazines, to the dentists who ride Harleys to
  get in touch with their Inner Biker, to the would-be gunslingers taking
  part in fast-draw contests, the karaoke singers and amateur-night
  stand-up comedians, to the sopranos who never made it to the Met but
  still star in the Methodist choir, to the frustrated explorers who take
  wilderness adventure vacations.

  Our national scolds say we’re something awful polarized these days,
  angry and snarling, don’t like our fellow Americans. The fundamentalist
  Christians can’t stand the so-called secularists, and vice versa. Oh,
  poop. Fellow citizens, we are, by and large, a splendid lot.

  Did you hear what the Buddhist said to the hot dog vendor? “Make me one with everything.”

  PS:
  If you read but didn’t comment on my latest blog about the ridiculous
  little supermarket checker, or commented early, you missed the joke sobasysta told.

  • 3:21 pm
  • 6 Comments